


Listless

by susako



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gen, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susako/pseuds/susako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrell Badd, the pressure slowly creeping up on him, feels restless. He's not entirely sure why, or what to do about it.</p><p>Rated Mature for masturbation and sex references. Spoilers for AAI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listless

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for matsutzu for the Gyakusai Swap holiday exchange on Livejournal. The prompt was "Tyrell Badd - Pretty much anything about him, as he's rarely drawn or written about to my knowledge. I would not be adverse to receiving something adult of him. (It would actually be appreciated and encouraged lol)"

Tyrell Badd remembers how good it felt to drag on a cigarette, inhaling slowly, feeling the smoke blossom in his lungs only to be expelled moments later, colouring his vision with a romantic haze. He remembers how the little stick felt in his hand, almost like an extension of his own self, connected to his fingers, delicately balanced between the tips. He remembers how it felt to discard the ash, giving the cigarette an expert tap with the edge of a stubby nail, watching the glowing embers rain down to disappear into the ether.

Every time he remembers how good it was, he reaches for a lollipop from his coat's inner pocket, pausing for a few moments to unwrap it with his hand still inside. He derives satisfaction from deftly pulling the sweet free from its cellophane prison, discarding the wrapper and lifting the thin stick to his mouth. He always holds it in his mouth for a moment, especially if he is with someone who has never seen him do it before. The look of panic, or apprehension they get when he reaches into his pocket gives him a grim kind of amusement, especially when it’s replaced by confusion at the sight of an innocent lollipop.

This is what is happening now. This little rookie is struggling to stand to attention, not sure quite what to do. His flickering doubt has betrayed him, marking him as an obedient and easy target.

“Clear the area,” Badd says quietly, pulling the pink lollipop free from his mouth for a moment so he can expel the words. “Allow no unauthorised personnel through. Allow no photographs. Allow no reporters.”

“Yes, Sir!” The rookie salutes rather stiffly.

“If anything gets out, I’ll have your badge.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Badd replaces the lollipop in his mouth and turns to leave the rookie behind, sauntering back to the crime scene. It’s a robbery, of that he is sure, not only because it is obvious, but because he helped plan the damn thing. And now it’s his role to scour the scene for evidence but not to bag and tag it, but to hide it.

What bothers him is how automatic the process is becoming. 

He longs for a cigarette, but his lollipop will have to suffice.

Their mission was noble. The haze of grief that covered Miss Calisto Yew had eventually given way to reveal a hard, uncompromising woman with wit as sharp as a razor blade. Faraday’s dangerous idealism had birthed grand schemes. Badd’s own solid sense of justice had rooted itself deep. They all came together naturally and planning the operations was disgustingly easy, so much so that Badd always expected something to go wrong. But it never did. They were lucky every time.

Maybe it was because in his experience, luck always ran out. Maybe it was the way that Faraday seemed to be almost fanatical. Maybe it was the way that lately, Yew’s smiles had started to sharpen, like she could cut you with a tilt of her glossed lips. Badd was a naturally suspicious man, it’s what made him such a good detective but what gave him the headache was having to balance everything – the trust and distrust in his companions, the intricate plans, the double-life and the intense loneliness that came with feeling like you were swimming upstream. A lot of the time lately he found himself wondering whether there was any point to anything.

But there was, there had to be. Because then all of this would have been for nothing.

 

Badd has been sitting in his office for a while. He can’t be bothered to do any work today because he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, and that feels wrong in itself. Has he forgotten something? No. He knows that he hasn’t, but the feeling pecks away at his brain, a relentless ticking.

One day, he will go mad.

With a sigh, Badd looks at the files piling up on his desk. He’s… unhappy. It’s the closest he can come to an adequate description of his feelings. The phone rings but he lets it go because it’s probably Faraday, who likes calling at this hour. Outside his office door he can hear the hum of activity, other detectives working on cases, rookies running around, the phones ringing and the clicking of fingers on keyboards. The myriad of sounds is at once soothing and annoying.

He decides to go and get himself a coffee, even though he doesn’t really like the stuff, even when he empties three sachets of sugar into it. It’s just something to do, even though today he knows that there is a stack of unsolved cases sitting, waiting to be looked at. He could probably go through them all and say _the husband did that one, that one was self-defence, a disgruntled employee did that one_ but then he would have to actually investigate and hunt down the evidence. Today his sense of justice is tired and bedraggled. He can see today being filled with endless cups of overly-sweet coffee and lollipops.

 

Night has fallen, heavy and unforgiving. Badd strolls the streets, on his way to his meagre apartment, down quiet roads that seem to be hiding secrets. He doesn't like secrets. He never liked them before, and he likes them even less now. Secrets make things complicated, and things are already complicated enough.

Faraday has given him a headache today, always so gung-ho about everything. Perhaps it was because Faraday could be so reckless that he was the one in charge of the device that actively encouraged planning and consideration of all the options. It was usually down to Badd and Yew to force Faraday to reconsider his approach. They were supposed to be a team, after all and if one of them went down, they probably all would and then their mission will have failed. Badd can’t stand the thought of failing – there has been so much failure already.

A pair of cats are fighting, but they seem to pause as Badd squeezes down a side street past them, his large frame dominating the small space. They resume fighting once he has passed.

Badd considers briefly going to a bar, maybe having a nightcap, maybe grabbing a woman, any woman. No, not any woman, one that’s easily impressed by his badge, who will take him to her place and fuck him senseless so he passes out and doesn't have any bad dreams. But he decides against it as he exits the side street and passes a bar full of young, twenty-somethings, all smiling, all well-dressed, all with delicate glasses and bottles in their perfectly conditioned fingers. If he were to walk in there, the heavy sensation of restlessness he’s carrying right now would infect everyone and nobody would want to look at him, never mind take him home. They might kick him out just so they could breathe freely again.

All of the streets look the same, but he continues walking on autopilot.

Finally arriving at his apartment, Badd kicks off his shoes near the doorway and sheds his jacket and all its holes like a second skin on the way to the front room, his favourite (only) armchair and a large glass of scotch. He wouldn’t usually, not when he knows he has an early start tomorrow, but today has just been one of those days, a strange day where he doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. He feels as if he has been floating in limbo.

 _Apathy,_ he thinks, taking a slow slip. The alcohol burns as it kisses his throat, but it feels good. _I’m becoming a big hulk of apathy._

He used to care about something, he’s sure of it. All he needs to do is start caring about it again. But it’s so hard when the majority of people are either incompetent, or willingly corrupt. The justice system is festering in its own rotten juices. It stinks to high heaven, and he’s right in the middle of it, struggling to get the stench off his worn hands.

 

It is the early hours of the morning. Badd knows that he should get some sleep, but he can’t sleep. The scotch has run dry and the room is dark except for the steady glow of the TV set.

He’s flicked over to the 24-hour news channel. On the screen is a busty newscaster, running through the next morning’s newspapers.

Unbidden, he feels his cock beginning to stir and for a moment he wonder Why her? t’s not as if she’s particularly attractive to him. But apparently his other head is in charge, so resigned to the fact that he should probably relieve himself, he sets his empty glass down on the floor and diligently unzips his trousers.

As he wraps his hand around his cock, he vaguely thinks that maybe he shouldn’t see masturbation as something he should do as something that he wants to do. His penis is warm and swollen, rising to the attention as he strokes up and down, dutifully focusing on the newscaster’s low-cut top, trying to imagine what she would look like naked, sprawled on his bed, ready, wet and waiting for him. 

He continues to stroke, building up the pace, watching her lips move and trying to remember how it feels to put his cock in someone’s mouth. What a nuisance this is. It feels good, but it’s a nuisance all the same. How long has it been? The thought is too depressing and too distracting so he tries to focus on something else, like how pleasant the sensation is, how heated his cock is becoming, how his own calluses feel as his fingers skim up and down his length.

The pace is furious now and it’s a strange combination of wanting to reach the end and sweet release and desperation for it to be over. Faster – faster – more – more – yes, that’s it, if he just squeezes a little harder, he can feel the blood pumping faster, the pressure building, that alien and yet familiar tickle, his balls aching, yes – just a little more…

Badd lets out a grunt as he comes, white juices spilling greedily from his cock, covering his trousers and his hand. The substance is warm and slightly sticky and it quickly cools as he softens. His breathing slows down and he closes his eyes for a moment, just sitting in his own mess. He’ll need to get up and clean this, but not right now.

Unfortunately, the newscaster switches from talking about newspapers to reviewing the day’s headlines, including the abduction of a small child, one who has the same colour hair as Kay Faraday.

Suddenly ashamed, Badd peels himself off his seat and stumbles to the bathroom on shaky legs to get cleaned up. A few minutes later, he’s lying in bed, restless again, staring at the ever-ticking alarm clock at his bedside. He has one hour before it rings.

 

“Badd! Badd! Can I talk to you for a minute?” Faraday is walking towards him quickly, waving, trying to get his attention.

“I’m busy,” Badd replies, and it’s only half a lie. He’s due in court, but not for another half an hour. He just doesn’t want to spend that time with Faraday, not today.

The halls of justice aren’t quite empty, but they’re not exactly packed so they both hear the chaos as someone crashes into someone else. Out of instinct, Badd pulls out his mirror and sees a bumbling young man apologising profusely to a lawyer who looks less than impressed with the papers that are all over the floor.

“Incompetent idiot! Why can’t you look where you’re going?”

“Hey pal, there’s no need for that! I’m sorry, ok? Look, I’m picking everything up!” Well, he kind of is except his clear nervousness is making him drop everything again. Badd examines the man’s puppy-dog eyes, his messy hair and his brand-new coat (there isn’t a stain on it and the collar is still rigid) and feels a stab of pity.

“Just… Just leave it!” The lawyer drops down low to pick up his stuff instead, and in the other young man’s hurry to get up, their heads collide.

Badd tunes out of more shouting and the sound of a bailiff getting involved, turning back to Faraday. “Call me later.”

“I’ve been trying. I was hoping that we could go over something today.” Faraday looks up at him with those eyes, so full of hope. It makes Badd feel a bit sick today. “It’s… important, you know? Well, of course you know it’s important but—”

They’re interrupted by musical laughter. “He’s funny, Daddy.” Faraday’s little girl has appeared behind her father, watching the scene down the hall where the lawyer has gathered his papers finally and is using them to beat the young man over the head. The bailiff who tried to intervene is looking unsure whether to try and break it up or whether to join in. The young man meanwhile is still trying to apologise and has his big hands over his head. He’s also dangerously close to one of the pot plants in the hallway.

Badd doesn’t have to look to know what’s going to happen and it’s confirmed by another big crash, more shouting and Kay’s laughter. “Daddy! Daddy! Look at him! Now he’s got soil everywhere!”

“I know, sweetie.” Faraday smiles down tolerantly at his daughter, also politely trying to ignore the scene, like half of the people around them. The other half are watching with no sense of shame.

 _Poor bastard_ , Badd thinks, wondering whether that young man’s day will get any better, or any worse. It’s still early, after all. “Call me,” he says again to Faraday. “I really have to get going.”

“Oh, okay then. Sure.” Faraday struggles not to look disappointed but he’s distracted by Kay – ever-sweet, bubbly Kay – pulling at his coat, jumping up and down, laughing some more. “Come on sweetie, we need to go, too.”

“Ok, Daddy. Bye bye, Uncle Badd!”

He should have told her not to call him that a long time ago, but he can never resist a face like that. “See you later, Kay.”

 

He’s out of lollipops. All that is in his pocket is a batch of wrappers and his trusty mirror. For the sake of something to do, he pulls it out, glancing momentarily at his own haggard reflection. The day has been long and his ability to cope with it has been hampered by last night’s lack of sleep.

Badd remembers how a reflective surface has saved his life on numerous occasions. It will be why he will carry one to his grave. You can always trust a reflective surface to show what’s behind you, to show you what you should look out for. Right now though, the glass is silent except for his own tired expression. It has been a while since he has had an uninterrupted night’s slumber.

The majority of people have gone home and the night shift is active, so the knock on his door surprises him. He angles the mirror slightly to see her, watching from the doorway. Her earrings catch a ray of light from the corridor’s harsh bulbs. He can see the hint of a smile on her painted lips.

“Admiring yourself, Detective?” She always has a lilt of mockery to her tone. “I never thought you were the vain type.”

“Not vain, Yew.” He puts the mirror away. “Just cautious.”

“It’s good to be cautious,” she acknowledges, not stepping into the room but instead hovering in the doorway. “Are you on your way out?”

“Yes.” His reply is terse. Seeing her half-hidden in shadow unnerves him more than he likes to admit. But she’s a friend – she’s proven that. Hasn’t she?

Yew had been waiting for him to say something further. Seeing that nothing else was forthcoming, she let out a small snort of laughter. “Always so much to say! Well, at least let me walk you out. I’ve just finished chatting to someone else. I have what I need now.”

He nods and follows her out of the office, shutting the door neatly behind him. The mirror’s weight in his pocket feels heavy. Yew dips in and out of darkness as one of the lights in the corridor flickers.

 _Another day_ , he tells himself. _Just get through another day._

 

 


End file.
